<nc-section data-title="The Iron Greeting" data-color="red"> I pulled back on the reins, bringing Thunder to a halt just outside the heavy oak doors of the stables. Before my boots even touched the dirt, a towering figure stepped out from the shadows of the overhang. It was Sir Roland. Even without his helmet, the man looked like a fortress given flesh, his face a map of scars earned in the border wars. He crossed his arms over his breastplate, the metal groaning slightly with the movement. He didn't smile. His steel-grey eyes swept over Thunder’s heaving flanks and then locked onto me with piercing scrutiny. "You ride hard, boy," Roland rumbled, his voice deep enough to rattle my teeth. "But a true knight knows to spare his mount before he reaches the gate, not after. Get him brushed and watered. Then present yourself to me. We see if you have a spine to match that fancy riding." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Old Family Friends" data-color="green"> The smell of dry hay and leather greeted me as I trotted toward the stabling yards. A man was leaning casually against a hitching post, whittling a piece of cedar with a small dagger. He looked up as I approached, his weathered face breaking into a grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Frederick!" Sir Roland called out warmly, snapping the knife shut and tucking it into his belt. He walked over, patting Thunder’s neck with a gentleness that belied the size of his calloused hands. "I haven't seen you since you were knee-high to a goblin. You’ve grown, lad." I slid off the saddle, my legs stiff from the journey. Roland clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder, steadying me. "Leave the tack to the grooms tonight. Come, let’s get some stew in you. You look like you haven't eaten since the river crossing." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="No Time to Waste" data-color="blue"> As I dismounted in the swirling dust of the courtyard, the stable master was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Sir Roland was there, pacing nervously by the water troughs. He was fully armored, his chainmail coif pulled back, revealing a brow slick with sweat despite the cooling evening air. He strode toward me the moment my feet hit the ground, grabbing Thunder's bridle with urgency. "You're late," he clipped, his gaze darting to the darkening horizon behind me. "Did you see anything on the road? Shadows in the clouds? Smoke?" "No, Sir Roland, the road was clear," I stammered, surprised by his intensity. "Good," he breathed, shoving the reins into the hands of a passing stable boy. "Forget your luggage. Grab your sword and follow me. The council is already in session, and they need to know the roads are still open—for now." </nc-section>